


Ad Astra Per Aspera

by Xenokroma



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: A ton of lore mistakes probably (sorry in advance), Action/Adventure, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-02-02 03:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12719031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenokroma/pseuds/Xenokroma
Summary: A routine evening takes a turn for the unusual when the Commonwealth Minutemen receive a mysterious distress signal.  The transmission has been sent by a young girl who claims to have been kidnapped from her home in the Mojave Desert.  The ensuing rescue mission transforms into a cross-country adventure that will shape the destiny of the Commonwealth for decades to come.





	1. Prologue: 2,715

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's the first part of a little idea I've had in my head for a few months now that I've really been wanting to write. I don't claim to be an expert on Fallout lore, so I'm really really sorry for any mistakes I might make (shout out to my pal Miguel for being an extra pair of eyes in terms of lore stuff, though. He's an angel xoxo). But, just a warning that I will be taking a few liberties with this, but I'll generally try to keep it pretty close to actual Fallout stuff. 
> 
> Also, this is your advance warning that this _will_ contain quite a few OCs. So if that's not your thing, this is your first and probably only heads-up to turn back. :P

* * *

**Vegas, 2281**

* * *

Swank had made a vow to himself to never let anybody else see him nervous. In his efforts to maintain the cool, collected image he’d worked so hard to achieve, he had never once broken that vow. Until now.

Now, he stared blankly ahead, seemingly unaware of the crowd that had gathered around him. It had taken every ounce of his being to restrain himself from biting his nails, but the radio’s crackly voice eventually caused him to succumb to his impulses.

He would have felt embarrassed had anyone been watching him.

Despite how crowded the room was, not a single pair of eyes was on him. Everyone was staring at the radio as if expecting an army to come bursting out of it.

The Tops Hotel & Casino had never been so quiet since the day it had opened. Silence had fallen over both the patrons and the ‘Chairmen’ who owned the place. But despite the stunned, apprehensive silence that had fallen over the people within it, the room vibrated. The fear and the hope and the confusion that emanated throughout the room could have shaken the Earth itself. 

Even the customer who had been having a heated argument with a card dealer over a game had abandoned the table and joined the gathering crowd. It was hard to worry about a couple hundred caps when the voice on the radio would be the difference between survival and doom.

Swank patted his jacket pocket, double checking to make sure that he had his gun and that he had set aside a spare round. He had his gun in case violence broke out on the strip, but he’d set aside one bullet in case the Legion were to take Hoover Dam. But that bullet wasn’t for Caesar. It was for himself.

As he listened to the radio, Swank ran his fingertips across the pocket in which he’d stuck the bullet, wondering if he would have to use it. He didn’t want to die, but he still derived a strange form of comfort from the bullet. The manner in which he died was all that was left in his hands, and a bullet to the head sounded like a far better way to cash out than crucifixion. 

Swank took a moment to scan the faces in the room. The lobby of the casino was full of Chairmen, tourists, and citizens alike. Despite the fear and suspense that enveloped the strip, there was a strange, new feeling of unity as everyone in the city gathered around their radios.

At that given moment, it no longer mattered whether they were Chairmen, or White Gloves, or Omertas. They were just New Vegas. 

And they were sitting ducks.

With Mr. House dead, they had no leader and no army. The New Vegas treaty was as good as scrap now; there was absolutely nothing protecting them from annexation by the NCR anymore. Although the Securitrons that patrolled the strip had recently been upgraded, they alone would never be able to stand up against an army.

It was with a sinking stomach that Swank realized that this battle would change New Vegas forever, and most likely not for the best. He dreaded a Legion victory more than anything, but even if the NCR were to win, what would happen to the strip? Would their families be torn apart? Would they be driven from the city? Swank couldn’t help but think about the younger members of the Chairmen. His stomach churned at the thought of what sort of fate might befall them. 

Many people wanted New Vegas to remain independent, but it was nothing but a dream. They were never going to be free. Whether the NCR or the Legion prevailed, they would become slaves. The battle was only going to determine what _kind_.

The panicked murmurs that erupted throughout the crowd roused Swank from his thoughts. He looked around, trying to figure out what he had missed.

A few people started softly crying. A terrified couple gripped one another’s hands. A man sat down on the stairs, his head in a mournful bow. This alone gave Swank his answer.

The NCR was losing.

Swank felt as though some malevolent force was squeezing his chest, suffocating him. His knees began to buckle beneath the weight of the spare bullet as it slowly drowned him in dark, turbulent waters.

He swallowed hard, trying to loosen the vice around his throat as the room began to spin. For a few terrifying moments, Swank feared that he was going to vomit or faint right in the middle of the casino. He desperately needed to sit down, but he couldn’t allow himself to. He couldn’t lose his cool. Not yet. Not here.

 _Please, not again. Not in front of everyone._ Swank clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, desperately clinging to some invisible handhold. He felt an unexplainable anger swell up within him; perhaps he was enraged with the universe itself for keeping him in suspense for so long. He wanted to scream at the two armies, begging them to just get the fight over with.

He took several deep, slow breaths in an attempt to ground himself, but doing so failed to assuage him. His heart stampeded through his torso with the fury of a thousand Legionaries, and his racing thoughts filled his lungs and throat like irradiated water. The mental image of himself and the rest of the family tied to Legion crosses was persistent, and it was nearly enough to push him over the edge.

Swank nearly jumped straight out of his skin when he felt a hand gently touch his back. When he turned around, Tommy was looking at him, concern filling his remaining eye. The man could read a person like a book; he was the only person in all of the Mojave who could see through Swank’s calm facade. 

But Swank just solemnly shook his head in response before turning away. He was grateful that Tommy didn’t have to be told not to push the issue any further. Had he been asked if he was okay, Swank may very well have lost his composure right then and there. 

He knew that he needed to retreat to his room and escape from the terrors with which the radio filled the room. But he couldn’t hide, not now. He had to stay. He needed to know. 

_C’mon, Swank, stay grounded… c’mon…_ Swank silently chanted, doing everything in his power to focus on taking breath after shaky breath. _Stay cool, baby, stay cool..._

The battle endlessly rose and receded like the tide. Swank had never seen the ocean, but he imagined that this must have been what it was like: ferocious, destructive, unforgiving, and uncaring about anything but itself. The two armies fought tooth and nail for the dam as if the moon itself was yanking them by leashes.

As he and the rest of New Vegas listened to the reports on the battle, Swank could practically see his fate dangling right in his face on a fraying thread, torturously close and yet just out of reach.

The air in the casino grew heavier with every passing moment, clogging Swank’s throat like thick, radioactive sludge. The tension had reached such a level that even several of the Chairmen were openly displaying their despair. Terror, after all, had a way of cracking even the most sturdily constructed facade. Swank himself was about to give in when the radio spat out a familiar word. Several people exchanged confused glances, and the radio was just as perplexed as everyone else in regards to what it had just reported.

 _Did he just say… Securitrons? No, no, no. I_ couldn’t _have heard that right. All of the Securitrons are right here on the strip. There’s no way that--_

“Holy shit!” exclaimed a man in the crowd, “a buncha them Securitrons just blew the shit outta Caesar!”

Swank couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but the radio confirmed what the man had yelled: apparently, a massive army of Securitrons had been hiding underground beneath the Legion encampment… and, somehow, not one person had ever noticed. Nevertheless, cheers, applause, and whistles erupted from the crowd as the news broke. 

But any excitement on Swank’s part was hesitant at best. Sure, the Legion had just gotten stabbed in the back… but by whom? Mr. House was dead, so there was no way it could have been him. And if it wasn’t Mr. House, it had to have been the NCR… right?

Swank was relieved that the tides were starting to turn against the Legion, but it was hard to be excited when he was this confused. 

_Who the hell woke up those robots?_

* * *

**Boston, 2288**

* * *

_Click, click._

If he was the sort of being who needed to breathe, Nick would have held his breath as Adrian pressed the detonation button.

It felt like an eternity before anything happened. But when it did, everyone on the roof watched in stunned silence as the ground trembled before erupting into a mushroom cloud, shooting ash and dirt and nuclear fire into the Boston sky. 

When the explosion had finally dissipated into wafts of gray smoke, the Minutemen surrounding Nick and Adrian filled the once-still air with passionate cheers. The sound of that explosion had been the cry of freedom as she returned to the Commonwealth. It meant that for the first time in history, the _people_ could take their future into their own hands.

But, like Adrian, Nick maintained a quiet, respectful silence, watching as Preston Garvey gave his congratulations to the general before taking his leave. The rest of the Minutemen followed at his heel as he descended the stairs.

Adrian turned away, watching as the Charles River began to fill the abyss that had once been the Institute. Nick knew that Adrian wasn’t celebrating. He was mourning. But, more importantly, he was finally taking the first steps towards healing.

Nick slowly approached his friend, laying a silicone hand on his back.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Nick was at a loss for words, but he knew he had to say something to comfort his friend, “I know it’s not the happy ending you were hoping for, but I wanted you to know that I’m, well…”

Adrian remained silent and still, but a subtle tilt of his head indicated that he was listening.

“...that I’m proud of you,” Nick continued with a gentle smile, “there’s not a lot of people that would do what you just did.”

Adrian maintained his silence, not even turning around to acknowledge Nick. But the man’s non-response was not off-putting; rather, it was as though Adrian was carefully examining each word Nick spoke to him, handling them with great care in his mind, absorbing them each one by one. Nick had learned that Adrian’s silence often spoke louder than any of his honeyed words.

“I’m assuming you want to be alone for a little while, but I just wanted you to know that.” Nick patted Adrian’s back one final time before getting ready to leave. “You did good.”

Nick said nothing more after that; he just watched as Adrian stood in silence like a sentinel, observing the sleeping city below. He neither celebrated nor wept, choosing instead to keep his emotions within as he typically did. Although Adrian had a tendency to clam up when he was emotional, it didn’t feel as though he was bottling anything up. He was just thinking. _Feeling._

Among all the grief and conflict that tumulted through him, there was a new air of curiosity to Adrian. It was as though he was examining his emotions, turning them over and over in his hands, examining them as if they were new, unusual stones. 

But Adrian had quite a lot of stones left to uncover.

Nick was the only one that Adrian had told the truth about his son; he had just died with the Institute as an old man. Unbeknownst to everyone else, the little boy who had evacuated alongside the Minutemen was a synth replacement. But Nick hoped with all of his heart that Adrian would come to see the young synth as his true son. If there was anything that his friend needed, it was a second chance.

It was no secret that Adrian had been through hell and back. To most, the Great War was a distant, centuries-old memory; it was a moment in history that had long since passed. Even the pre-war ghouls that Nick had spoken to felt somewhat detached from the event. But the dropping of the bombs was still so painfully fresh to Adrian. He had watched, helplessly, as everything he had ever known and loved was incinerated by nuclear fire… and he remembered it like it was yesterday. Such was the heartbreaking result of being put into cryo-stasis for over two centuries.

Never in a million years could Nick even begin to comprehend how Adrian must have felt. However, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat angry on his friend’s behalf. The poor bastard had risked life and limb to rescue his son from the Institute, only to find out that he was _in charge_ of the damned thing. Despite this, Adrian had still tried with all of his might to reconcile with Shaun. Nick had helplessly watched as Adrian tore himself apart, desperately trying to mend the remaining pieces of the family he never got to have.

Shaun repaid his father’s efforts by trying to kill him.

The last time the two ever spoke was after the disastrous battle of Bunker Hill. Their final meeting took place on the roof of the C.I.T. ruins that stood above the Institute. It was there that Adrian confessed that he had betrayed the Institute, that he couldn’t support their cause. Shaun left Adrian’s life for the final time in a flash so blinding that it sent him spiralling back in time two-hundred years. Having been reminded of the very event that had torn his life and his world to pieces, Adrian didn’t speak single word for several days after the encounter.

In spite of everything he’d been put through, there was no longer a single flicker of anger in Adrian’s body language. In fact, this was the calmest and most peaceful that Nick had ever seen him. His long, agonizing quest had finally come to an end, and he could finally start to heal. The man already held his broad shoulders just a little bit higher than he had the day before.

Nick knew that Adrian’s road to recovery was only just beginning, but he silently prayed to whoever was listening that he’d one day find some form of peace. 

_Hopefully one that_ doesn’t _involve chems._


	2. The Fairytale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready accompanies the Minutemen as they embark on a dangerous rescue mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I got a little bit stuck but, here it is! 
> 
> Also: just a head's up that not all of these chapters will be in chronological order, since there will be several different things going on at once. It shouldn't be confusing, but some chapters may hop back and forth in time a little.

* * *

**MacCready**

* * *

MacCready and Adrian shared a comfortable silence as they wolfed down their dinners.  A long day of patrolling had left the two of them with ravenous appetites; MacCready had watched in awe as Adrian practically inhaled an entire plate of radstag.  After he had finished his own food, MacCready leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of beer before folding his arms behind his head.

“Can we take the day off tomorrow?   _Please?_ ”  MacCready pleaded, although mostly in a joking manner.  Adrian’s answer was most likely going to be a firm ‘no’, followed by a lengthy lecture about duty and all the other crap the Minutemen filled his head with.   _Can’t hurt to ask, though…_

MacCready was surprised, however, when Adrian hummed softly as he took his request into consideration.  “Sure, why not.  Nick’s been bugging me to take some time off, anyway. Says I’m ‘overexerting’ myself.”

 _One of the rare occasions that I actually agree with Nick,_ MacCready wanted to say.  Wanting to avoid putting Adrian in a defensive mood, however, he held his tongue.  Although Nick Valentine was an old synth who didn’t need food or sleep, he was one of the few people who at least tried to make sure Adrian didn’t work himself to death.  

MacCready sleepily closed his eyes, imagining all of the possibilities for his day off.  Truth be told, there wasn’t exactly a whole lot to do in Sanctuary Hills.  Diamond City would have been a much more ideal place to hang out for a while, despite the stench that perpetually blanketed the place.  But it wasn’t often that Adrian would allow himself a break, so MacCready was in no position to complain.  At least in Sanctuary Hills they would be able to visit their kids.

“So, what do you wanna do?”  MacCready asked.

“Bathe, for one thing,” Adrian chuckled, “but, I dunno.  Maybe do some reading?  I’m probably just gonna hang out around the house and spend some time with Shaun, to be honest…”

“That all?”  MacCready quipped with a wink.  He was planning on spending the day eating Sugar Bombs and reading comics with his son, Duncan, but he had some other ‘activities’ in mind, as well.

“Well…” Adrian grinned, picking up MacCready’s cue.  The older man grinned sheepishly as he prepared to make some sort of cheesy sexual joke.  But he was interrupted by a knock at the front door.  “Uh, one second.”

When Adrian opened the door, waiting outside was Preston Garvey, whose sunny disposition was masked by confusion and concern.  Although MacCready often felt that that Preston was overly idealistic, he knew better than to underestimate him.  Preston’s optimism was not to be mistaken for naiveté; the man was as smart as a whip. If he of all people was confused by something, that’s how one knew that the situation was serious.

“General?”

“What’s up, Preston?” Adrian asked as he straightened his posture, “something the matter?”

“I’m sorry if I interrupted anything,” Preston was apologetic and polite, but he had that spark in his eye that appeared when something very serious was unfolding, “but we just picked up a _really_ concerning distress signal.  We thought you should know about it, sir.”

“Show me.”  Despite how exhausted Adrian was, all signs of fatigue suddenly faded from his posture.  Within seconds, Adrian had snapped right back into Minuteman Mode. 

He glanced backwards at MacCready, silently prompting him to come along.  All MacCready wanted to do was sleep, but if this distress signal was as worrying as Preston was making it out to be, then he wanted to hear it for himself.

With a yawn, MacCready trudged after Preston and Adrian, sluggishly donning his invisible Minuteman hat.  

_So much for a day off._

 

* * *

 

MacCready followed the others into the abandoned house that served as the Minutemen’s headquarters in Sanctuary Hills.  Inside were several other Minutemen who were listening to the distress signal as it repeated from the radio.  Judging by the sound of her voice, the sender couldn’t have been any older than twelve.

MacCready paid close attention to the message:

> _My name is Gloria Sherwood and I’ve been kidnapped.  I’m not sure where I am, but I think the people who took me mentioned something about a “commonwealth” if that helps.  Please help me - I_ promise _to make sure my family compensates you for the trouble.  I-I gotta go.  These people are dangerous, so please hurry!_

Adrian’s face had hardened into a frown as he listened to the distress call.  The man knew what it was like to have his child kidnapped.   _I bet this is bringing back some pretty terrible memories for him._

MacCready’s stomach turned as he tried to imagine his six-year-old son, Duncan, in a similar situation.  He couldn’t imagine how he might have felt if someone had kidnapped his child and dragged him off to who knows where.  MacCready realized that someone, somewhere, was currently experiencing that sickening fear.  His regrets about losing his only day off in weeks immediately faded at the thought.   _I guess Grognak the Barbarian and Silver Shroud can wait another day or two.  Someone’s missing their kid._

“We need to find a way to locate where that signal is being broadcast from, and fast,” Preston announced, “we can’t afford to keep that little girl waiting.”

“I might be able to track it on my Pip-Boy,” Adrian held up the arm on which he wore the device, “that’s how we found that Institute Courser, after all.  I’ll just need the frequency.”

Lacking in technological prowess, MacCready opted to sit on a beaten up old sofa while Sturges and Adrian worked on his Pip-Boy.  It took quite some time for the two to figure out how to get the damned thing to pick up the radio signal, and MacCready was quickly growing bored.  He stared blankly at the shabby floor tiles as his mind began to amble off.

As much as MacCready wanted to help, he wondered how they know that they weren’t just picking up a message that was sent years, decades, or even _centuries_ ago?  Countless times, he and Adrian had investigated a distress signal only to find that they were centuries too late.  It was just part of the job, according to Adrian.  They had to try.  

But, most of the time, it felt like all they were _doing_ was trying.  Adrian and Preston were both obsessed with the concept of saving the world; they didn’t even care that they were just wasting their time.  Those two could go on for ages about hope, as if they saw something magical in the wasteland surrounding them.  When MacCready looked around, all he saw were dark buildings from an old world that was long dead.  There was simply no way that any of it was ever going to be alive again. But MacCready had quickly learned not to air this grievance; the prospect of rebuilding the world was Adrian’s only reason to get up in the morning, even if all he did was chase after old world ghosts.

After what felt like a decade, MacCready was roused from his thoughts by the sound of Adrian fastening his Pip-Boy onto his arm.  The older man gave MacCready a sympathetic look.

“Sorry, RJ,” Adrian apologized, “looks like we’re going on another outing.  But, if you’re too tired, I could always--”

“You kiddin’?” MacCready rolled his eyes with a smirk as he rose to his feet, “you’d _never_ survive out there without me.”

Adrian shook his head in amusement and gently slapped MacCready’s shoulder.

“Sounds like we’d better hurry up and get this show on the road,” MacCready grinned as he gave Adrian’s back a slap in return.

“You can say that again,” Preston agreed, “meet me on the bridge when you’re ready to go.”

MacCready headed back to Adrian’s house to gather the supplies he’d need for the mission.  He grabbed his gun while Adrian gathered up fusion cells for his laser rifle.  MacCready took a moment to stretch while Adrian wrestled with the straps of his combat armor.

Upon being informed that it was a quarter past ten, MacCready let out an audible groan.

_This is gonna be an exciting evening, but not for the reason I’d hoped._

As the Minutemen made their preparations for the mission, a settler kindly offered them cups of hot coffee.  Its bitter taste made MacCready cringe, but the caffeine provided a most welcome jolt of energy for the long night ahead.

After everyone had finished their drinks, MacCready and the Minutemen crossed the wooden bridge into the pitch-black Commonwealth.  The roads would be riddled with dangers at an hour like this, but their mission was too important to put off until the morning.

They had a little girl to save.

 

* * *

 

As they navigated the dark, broken roads, the party made hardly a sound except for the crackling of Adrian’s Pip-Boy.  Preston tried to strike up a conversation, but tiredness quickly stifled his attempt.  Eventually, he gave up and fell into the same silence that had enveloped the rest of the group.

It was well past midnight by the time the static coming from the Pip-Boy began to remotely resemble a human voice.  It was still nearly incomprehensible, but at least now it would be easier for them to find where the girl was being held.  MacCready prayed that it wouldn’t be too much longer before they found her; his eyelids felt like they weighed fifty pounds.

 _Just focus on the mission,_ MacCready silently chastised himself.  But he couldn’t help but worry about how tired everybody was; it was on long, exhausting nights such as this that people made fatal mistakes.

Not wanting to become the moral of a story, MacCready gave his head a violent shake, as if doing so would provide a viable alternative to sleep.

_Just focus on the mission, just focus on the mission, just focus on the mission…_

It was as they approached a seemingly abandoned concrete building that the radio signal strengthened.  The puttering clamour of turrets and the sight of the barbed wire that surrounded the building indicated that this was most likely the right place.  Adrian pulled his laser rifle from his back and nodded to the other Minutemen.  

As they drew closer to the building, several of the Minutemen let out shocked gasps.  Preston grimaced, and MacCready felt the nausea rising within him.  

Surrounding the doorway was a display of gore; limbs, heads, and unrecognizable piles of guts were perched on tall spikes.  The entire entrance was a sickening red that MacCready knew hadn’t come from paint.  

 _These are raiders, all right,_ MacCready tightened his grip on his rifle, trying not to think about what they were planning to do with the poor girl they’d kidnapped.  A lifetime of mercenary work had yet to harden MacCready’s stomach against the sight of what raiders did to their dead victims.  This place in particular was more resemblant of a super mutant lair than a raider hideout.  

As if unphased by the horrors that surrounded the base’s entrance, Adrian opened the flap of the Stealth Boy that hung from his belt, twisting a dial before melting into thin air.  Adrian’s task was to find the girl while MacCready, Preston, and the rest of the Minutemen watched his back, taking out any raiders they found along the way.  MacCready hoped that Adrian would take the time to disarm any traps that he found, but he wasn’t worried.  If there was anyone in the world he could trust to watch out for him, it was Adrian.

The door quietly swung open as Adrian picked its lock, allowing the Minutemen behind him to sneak into the base after him.  As MacCready followed Preston inside, the scent of blood and death assaulted him like a punch to the nose.  It took every ounce of his willpower not to vomit.  

The building itself was surprisingly quiet considering the fact that its inhabitants were raiders.  But MacCready knew better than to feel relieved.

 _Never a good sign._   _Best case scenario, we’re too late, as usual.  Worst case…_

MacCready took a deep breath, trying to remove the unhelpful thoughts from his mind.  But it was hard not to be a little paranoid when one was surrounded by walls lined with blood, guts, and bones.  

 _The mission, MacCready,_ he repeated, trying to avoid looking too closely at his surroundings, _just focus on getting yourself and Adrian out of here alive.  You two have been through worse.  Right?_

As they moved through the building, many of the Minutemen held their breaths in fear of drawing the attention of the raiders.  As much as MacCready wanted to charge into those rooms, guns blazing, and give a bunch of filthy raiders what they deserved, they had to keep this quiet.  If the raiders were to be alerted to their presence, it could be bad news for the kid.  MacCready was sickened at the thought of anybody else becoming another ingredient of the bloody soup that filled the building.

The air rippled as Adrian poked around the base under the cover of his Stealth Boy.  Truth be told, Adrian didn’t really need the thing; he moved so quietly that nobody would ever know to look for him.  But, rescue missions were a whole different animal - one had to proceed with extreme caution.   _Better safe than sorry, I guess._

Aside from the occasional bear trap, they met no resistance as they crept further into the building.  A few raiders skulked down the hallways, but with stealth and a little patience, they were easily avoided.  MacCready began to wonder if the girl was even here, as things were almost going _too_ smoothly.

Despite the obvious presence of raiders in the building, none of them had seemed to notice that they were there.  With Adrian’s help, the Minutemen had managed to easily sneak into the place.

Then they heard the clicking of claws as a mongrel made its way down the hallway.

_Crap._

They watched as the filthy creature crept towards them, its nose scrutinizing the dirty floor. Those creatures had a terrifyingly good sense of smell; it was only a matter of time before this one found them.  One of the Minutemen glanced at MacCready, motioning towards the hideously mutated canine with her silenced pistol.  MacCready nodded in response, and she pulled the trigger.  

As the bullet pierced its skill, the mongrel let out a dying yelp as it came crashing to the ground, blood gushing from its wound.

As they watched the mongrel die, the Minutemen readied their weapons in case any of the raiders had heard them.  Several moments of tense silence passed.  Eventually, the party determined that it was safe to keep moving, so they advanced down the hallway, leaving the dead animal behind.

They crept towards the very end of the corridor, approaching a doorway from which a dim light spilled.  MacCready swore he could hear whispers, and he hoped that they belonged to Adrian and the little girl.

When they reached the doorway, Preston poked his head into the room before motioning for the others to follow him inside.  They found Adrian, who was whispering to a frightened young girl.

“You’re here to help, right?” The girl asked, trying to hold back her tears, “I wanna go home!”

“Don’t worry,” Adrian assured her, “we’re gonna get you out of here.”

“T-thank you, sir,” the girl smiled, holding her shoulders high despite how terrified she must have been, “but be careful, these raiders like to--”

The girl was cut off by the sound of a dozen raiders’ armored footsteps.  As the raiders closed in on them, MacCready could hear their malicious laughter.  Preston motioned for the girl to hide in a nearby closet, and she obeyed without question.

“Well, well.  It looks like we have ourselves some guests,” the woman leading the raiders observed with a sickening grin as she entered the room, “I, for one, am glad that little Gloria sent out an invitation.  We let her send the signal out in hopes that someone would come join our little… party.”

“What the hell is this?!”  Adrian growled.

“It’s a trap, obviously,” the woman rolled her eyes, “don’t be a sore loser just because you strolled right into the damned thing.  Just relax, this will be _great_ fun.”

The woman had barely finished speaking when Adrian opened fire, taking down the one of the raiders behind her with a blast of blue energy.  MacCready dove behind a metal desk, crouching next to another Minuteman.  Together, they took down several raiders while the others took shelter behind anything they could find.

These raiders were tougher than most, and dressed almost uniformly; they wore matching armor that was painted a sickly green color.  Several had hands and scalps hanging from their belts.  The sight made MacCready want to throw up.

While most of the raiders were using guns, several of them had opted to use blades instead.  One of them tried to hack away at one of the Minutemen, only to be downed by a bayonet to the gut.  That same Minutemen let out a pained howl as a bullet pierced his side.  As he came crashing to the ground, there was nothing MacCready wanted more than to lend him a hand, but he couldn’t let that distract him.  Right now, his ability to focus would be the difference between life and death.  Besides, the Minuteman who’d been shot was still fighting; as he sat on the ground, clutching his side, he grabbed a fallen pistol and continued shooting raiders like it was nobody’s business.

Not wanting to end up like the mutilated corpses they’d seen, the Minutemen eventually killed the rest of the raiders.  As the initial fighting drew to a close, the room was left in a tense, blood-drenched silence.  As MacCready rose to his feet, he watched in disgust as the raiders bled out onto the floor.  They had gotten what they deserved, but something didn’t feel quite right.   _I have a bad feeling that these guys weren’t your average raiders._

Once the fighting had died down, Adrian approached the wounded Minuteman and administered a stimpak.  It was no replacement for proper medical treatment, but it would at least keep their comrade on his feet until they could reach a safe location.  MacCready was still concerned for him, but they didn’t exactly have a whole lot of treatment options at the moment.  Getting out of there was now their top priority.

The girl peeked out of the closet in which she’d been hiding.  Her eyes widened when she saw the dead raiders.

“Is it safe now, sir?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Preston assured her, “now follow us!  We need to get you out of here in a hurry.  I don’t think that was the last of them.”

The girl quickly obliged, following at Preston’s heel as the Minutemen dashed out of the building.  They were met with more resistance as they left; the raiders occupying the building and the surrounding area must have heard their gunshots.  During their escape, MacCready darted into the shadows, taking down as many raiders as he could with his rifle.  Meanwhile, Adrian and the other Minutemen charged into the thick of the firefight, blasting away at the raiders.  As everyone else carved out an escape route, Preston defended the frightened girl, keeping her away from the worst of the fighting.

As soon as the Minutemen reached the road, they took off running into the night.  Two of the Minutemen lagged behind, watching their backs in case any of the raiders tried to pursue them.  Once they felt that they were at a safe distance, the group’s pace slowed to a walk as they made their way back to Sanctuary Hills.

“Thank you so much,” the girl thanked them profusely, clasping her hands together for emphasis “those raiders were absolutely vile, and I cannot express how grateful I am to finally be away from them.”

“We’re glad to have gotten you out okay,” Adrian told her with a warm smile, “you’re Gloria, I assume?”

“Yes, sir,” Gloria confirmed with a polite nod, “Gloria Sherwood.”

The mnner in which Gloria spoke came across as somewhat pretentious, but she was probably just trying to seem older and more mature to cope with her fear. Alternatively, as MacCready realized with great joy, the girl’s diction could indicate that she was wealthy or important.  

 _I bet we’ll make a_ thousand _caps for this job!_ MacCready had to force a straight face as he imagined all the things he was going to buy with the extra money.  Most jobs in the Commonwealth only paid anywhere from two hundred to five hundred caps.  It was better than nothing, but the prospect of receiving a four-figure payment for one job made MacCready want to drool.  Admittedly, they didn’t actually _know_ how much money this girl’s family had, but the idea was too beautiful not to at least fantasize about.

“I cannot express how grateful I am to be rescued, but I’m afraid your work isn’t done.  I believe that I am incredibly far from my home,” the girl tried to keep the fear out of her voice as she explained her situation, “but rest assured: I am a member of a very wealthy family called the White Glove Society.  If you bring me home, I will assure that you are properly rewarded and recognized for your deeds.  Not to mention, this will likely earn you the favor of the White Glove Society.  Having _us_ on your side is worth even more than caps, if I do say so myself.”

The last point caught MacCready off guard.  He had so many questions that it felt like his head was spinning.   _I just hope caps are still included in the reward.  Gloves aren’t exactly a widely accepted form of currency.... Also, what the hell’s a glove society anyway?_

“So… where are you from?” MacCready figured that this was the easiest question to start with.

“I come from a city called New Vegas,” the girl beamed, “I live in a casino on the strip with the rest of my family.  It’s called the Ultra-Luxe.”

“I always thought that place was just a legend,” Preston was absolutely awestruck.  His voice was full of wonder, and his eyes glazed over as his mind wandered off to distant deserts and legendary cities.

While Preston found wonder and inspiration in those legends, MacCready had never seen the point of them.  There were a couple of drifters in Goodneighbor who told stories about a city in a desert far to the West.  But they were just that: stories and rumors told by people who were more often drunk than not.  Many of the folks in Goodneighbor were incredibly poor, and the chems they shot up only served to fuel their imaginations.  MacCready couldn’t fully blame those people, though; besides chems, stories were all they had to take their mind off of reality for a while.

But, in the end, legends couldn't protect people or fill their empty stomachs, and the last thing the Commonwealth needed on top of everything else was false hope.  

Even if it was real, New Vegas was probably just another pre-war city that now lay in ruins. MacCready knew all too well that the whole world had baked to a crisp by nuclear fire; there was simply no way in hell an entire city could have been spared from the destruction.

 _It’s probably just a glorified Diamond City._ This ‘New Vegas’ was probably built out of scrap metal and rotting plywood in some stinking, abandoned sports arena.  The families of New Vegas were probably just like those who made their home in Diamond City’s upper stands: rich enough to drink at nice bars, live in larger shacks, and buy fancy clothes, but not much else.   _They’re just rich enough to act like they’re better than everybody else._

“Oh, it’s not a legend, I assure you,” the girl smiled, her fear momentarily replaced by pride, “you should consider making the trip out West with me.  New Vegas is a sight to behold - I promise it will be like nothing you’ve _ever_ seen before!”

“Wow… well, if that place actually is real, then it sounds you’re an awfully long way from home,” Preston gave the girl a gentle, sympathetic smile, “but don’t worry: if we can find a vertibird in good enough shape, it’d be my pleasure to escort you back to New Vegas.”

Preston paused awkwardly.

“Well… with the general’s permission, of course.”

“Permission granted,” Adrian grinned, “so long as I can come along for the ride.  I’d hate to miss out on _this.”_

 _Oh, man.  Don’t tell me he’s actually buying into that crap._ MacCready had to stifle a groan.  Adrian could be gullible at times, sure, but until now, he hadn’t been the the type to chase after stupid legends.   _We’ve only got four vertibirds, and_ those _aren’t exactly in top shape.  Can we_ really _afford to look for a city that only drunk people happen to know about?_

“There’s plenty of neon lights and gambling in Goodneighbor,” MacCready piped up, hoping to dissuade Adrian from making such a reckless journey, “even if you do have to sleep with one eye open in that place.  But that’s the fun part, eh?”

“I don’t know, MacCready,” Preston chimed in, “I think this is worth checking out.  Besides, we need to get Gloria home to her family, and helping people is what being a Minuteman is all about.”

 _Here he goes again,_ MacCready sighed.  Silently, he surrendered, realizing there was no backing out of this situation.  It was apparent that Adrian had already made his decision, and there was no way in hell MacCready was going to let him set off in search of a lost city on his own.

As MacCready contemplated the situation at hand, he realized that Preston had made a fairly good point.  Whether it was real or not, this New Vegas place was worth checking out.  At least then he would be able to tell those storytellers to shut their mouths next time they started yapping about the place.  But, there was always the possibility that those drunks had been onto something.

“So, what about you, RJ?”  Adrian gave MacCready a smug grin as he asked the question that he had been dreading since they met Gloria, “you in?”

At this point, MacCready realized he had two options:

He could say no, and sit by himself for weeks while everyone else went on the adventure of a lifetime.

...or, he could say yes, which would likely lead to him dying in a horrific vertibird crash, but he might get to see a legendary city along the way.  Even in the event that something terrible happened, he would rather die in a flaming wreck than make Adrian have to go through it by himself.

MacCready weighed the options in his head, and quickly realized that there really was only one choice.  If New Vegas really existed, he would have to see it for himself to believe it.  

“Count me in.”


	3. The Overboss

 

* * *

Marjorie

* * *

 

Mr. Sherwood paced about the Lucky 38’s cocktail lounge like a caged deathclaw.  He had his hands balled into tight little fists, as if he were trying to physically combat the tears he was barely holding back.  He could get rather intimidating when his temper flared, but this time, Marjorie could sympathize with his desperation.  She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like to have one’s very young daughter go missing.

However, Marjorie also felt somewhat concerned for the overboss, whose throat she feared Mr. Sherwood might tear out in a fit of rage.  Maxxie was remaining as calm as one could in such a scenario, but nevertheless, he resembled a caged brahmin that was surrounded by a swarm of hungry cazadors.  

Marjorie couldn’t help but feel for Maxxie at times; he had just barely turned twenty-eight, and he already carried the weight of their little piece of the world on his shoulders.  He absolutely hated being yelled at, but he held his shoulders up as high as his short body could manage, and continued to maintain a calm demeanor.

This time, however, one couldn’t help but take to heart the tension that flowed throughout the room.  It was at times like these that the slivers of gray among Maxxie’s deep ginger locks began to stand out.

“We have vertibirds out searching for her as we speak, and I’ve told every single patroller to keep an eye out for her,” Maxxie made an admirable attempt to assuage Mr. Sherwood’s anger, but he only screwed up his face even more intensely in response, “I promise you, we’re doing _everything_ we can.  If we find any more leads, you’ll be the first to--”

“That’s what you say _every time!_ ”  Sherwood boomed, provoking a subtle flinch from Maxxie, “every time we’ve talked about this, you make all these empty promises, and yet my daughter is still out there somewhere.  I don’t even know if she’s _alive!_ ”

“Mr. Sherwood,” Marjorie interjected, hoping to take some of the pressure off of Maxxie, “if Mr. Callisto could venture into the wasteland and find your daughter himself, then I have no doubt that he would have.  But keep in mind that Mr. Callisto now has mountains of other responsibilities to attend to.”

“So, you’re telling me that the overboss can fight at the Hoover Dam, but he can’t even find Gloria?”  Mr. Sherwood hissed as he crossed his arms, looking away before muttering under his breath,  “the man only cares about his own image.  Don’t know what I expected from someone who’s always got the all of the Chairmen’s dicks in his mouth.”

Maxxie narrowed his eyes, “not _all_ of them.”

“Enough with the mental images, I _beg_ of you,” Marjorie groaned, closing her eyes as she tried to erase the thoughts from her mind, “I understand your anger, Mr. Sherwood, but it’s hardly fair to take it out on everyone else.  I ask that you please remember that we are _not_ the only people in New Vegas.”

“You’re right, you’re right.  I apologize for my ill manners,” Mr. Sherwood let out a relenting sigh, looking away and scratching the back of his head, “I’ve just been worried absolutely sick these last few weeks. Her mother and I have been through absolute hell.”

“I understand,” despite the overwhelming pressure that was currently weighing him down, Maxxie’s face was still warm and sympathetic, “no apologies necessary, sir.”

The conversation lulled, allowing the two men a moment to take some much-needed deep breaths.

“Are we still investigating the Omertas?” Marjorie asked once the two men had calmed themselves.

“I don’t want to point fingers just yet... but yes, absolutely,” Maxxie confirmed, “they’re our only lead so far.”

“They have every reason to seek revenge against us,” Mr. Sherwood’s eyes glazed over as he silently fretted over the safety of his only child.  

It was a fairly heavy accusation they would be making against the Omertas, but Marjorie realized with a twisting stomach that there was nothing they could put past the former strip family.  The Omertas were backstabbing traitors on a _good_ day.  

After their failed plot to poison the strip with chlorine gas, Marjorie hadn’t thought that the Omertas could stoop any lower.  But, as usual, those twisted fiends had pulled yet another trick out of their sleeves.

Marjorie couldn’t imagine how heartless and cruel one had to be to take out their anger against an innocent young girl.  It was a low blow, even for the Omertas.

Although the news had initially come as a shock, it was for good reason that the Omertas had been driven from New Vegas to begin with.  That moment had changed the city forever; not only had Vegas rid itself of a ruthless crime family, but Maxxie had made an example of the Omertas.  The remaining families quickly realized what would happen if they challenged his rule, or worked against the best interests of the people of New Vegas.

“I apologize again for getting angry,” Mr. Sherwood’s second apology pulled Marjorie from her thoughts, “I truly appreciate everything you are doing.  Besides, I know that my sister is flying above the Mojave as we speak.  If anyone can find my little girl, it’s Mabel.”

Marjorie couldn’t agree more with that sentiment; Mabel was easily the most resourceful person on the strip.  The woman had a sharp eye, and Marjorie did not for one moment doubt her capabilities.  

At first, Marjorie had associated the White Glove Society more with food than power armor, as it was usually the Chairmen who were fixated with such accessories. But Mabel had demonstrated an extraordinary talent for using it, and it was with great pride that Marjorie had watched her become one of the first White Gloves to join New Vegas’s army.

“Please let me know if you learn anything else,” Mr. Sherwood turned on his heel and strutted away, leaving Marjorie alone with Maxxie.  They stood in silence as Mr. Sherwood stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind him.

Marjorie watched as Maxxie folded his hands behind his back and approached the window.  He stared out into the New Vegas skyline, allowing himself to sink deep into his own thoughts.  It was no wonder that Maxxie so adored living at the top of the Lucky 38; when one could see so far across the Mojave, it was easy to become comfortably lost in the recesses of one’s own mind.

Marjorie joined Maxxie at the window, watching as the neon lights of New Vegas began to blink to life as the sun set.  While most of the world was preparing to crawl into their beds, Vegas was just waking up.  But the bright lights were no longer confined to the strip; over the last several years, Freeside had grown to be just as bright as the rest of the city.  What had once been stench-ridden ruins now bustled with the same vigour as the strip itself.  The bodyguards, who had once made their living escorting tourists through the neighborhood, had been forced to find other forms of employment.

As Maxxie observed the city below, his fingertips brushed against his lips as he fumbled with his thoughts, trying to establish some semblance of organization among them.  Marjorie swore that she could see the tiniest sliver of sadness in his expression.

It was no secret that Maxxie cared very much about New Vegas, perhaps even to a fault.  From the moment he had set foot in its gates for the first time, the city had become an integral part of his very soul.  He so badly longed to protect it and to make it as perfect as it could be.  

“I do hope you aren’t putting the blame for this on yourself,” Marjorie murmured as she watched the tiny, ant-like people going about their business below, “you can’t possibly control everything that happens.”

“I should have expected this to happen, though,” Maxxie growled, although more to himself than anybody else, “I should have known that chasing the Omertas off wouldn’t put an end to their schemes.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty, dear,” Marjorie had learned long ago that any attempt to put a stop to Maxxie’s guilt spirals was futile, but she could never walk away without trying.

“The people need to feel _safe_ ,” Maxxie huffed before falling into a tense silence.  He could be a spitfire at times, but Marjorie could see that the fight had left him… for now.  She hoped that it meant that he had taken her point to heart.

He was twenty-eight years old, but Maxxie was still very much like a boy in some ways.  His heart was in the right place, but he often grew irritable when things didn’t go his way, and it was all too easy to spark his temper when a kink appeared in his plans.  This, unfortunately, was one of those moments.

“New Vegas isn’t perfect,” Marjorie continued, hoping to driving her point home, “it never was, nor will it ever be.  People understand this, I promise you.”

Maxxie let out a heavy sigh, but Marjorie could see that he was slowly beginning to relax.

“Out here, our job is to take care of each other, just like you taught us,” Marjorie gently laid her hand on Maxxie’s shoulder, “so keep your chin up, dear.  You’re doing just fine.”

Maxxie didn’t respond at first.  He just silently watched as the sun dipped closer to the horizon.  The darker the sky became, the wilder the streets grew as the Vegas nightlife kicked into full gear.

As she watched the crowds grow, Marjorie knew that she would soon be needed back at the Ultra-Luxe.  As she excused herself, Maxxie finally turned to acknowledge her.

“Thanks, Marj.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was kind of slow, but there's plenty of action to come, I promise :D
> 
> One little note, though - I know the term "overboss" tends to apply more to Nuka World than to New Vegas, but I personally use the term to refer to Maxxie since I think it sounds kinda cool, hah. But also, sometimes the Omerta Thugs will refer to Mr. House as the "overboss" when they ask if the courier met him in the Lucky 38. So, I just ran with it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. The Story of a Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What's the angle here?"_

* * *

  **Piper**

* * *

 

Piper groaned as she was awakened by the incessant chirping of birds outside her window.  She was tempted to pull out her gun and scare the obnoxious creatures away, but she restrained herself.  It was probably for the best that she had been woken up early, as Adrian had something very important in store for her and Nick.

A couple of days prior, Adrian had sent word that he had a very special task for the two of them.  He didn’t say much else; he insisted that he would have to explain the rest in person.  Oh, and also that he needed to conserve vertibird fuel for...something.  Which meant that, of course, she and Nick would have to make the trek to Sanctuary Hills on foot.  Piper and Nick had suspected that the _something_ in question was likely to do with why they were needed.

As Piper rose to her feet, her leg muscles cried out in protest.  As she stretched, she prayed that it was for good reason that she had made such a long trip on such short notice.  

_Whatever Adrian has in store for us, I just hope I get the opportunity to do the whole ‘reporter’ thing..._

Piper slid her feet into her boots, threw on her red trench coat, and headed outside to search for Adrian.  She meandered through the neighborhood only to realize that he was nowhere to be found.  She was about to give up and head back to bed when Preston walked by.

“If you’re looking for Adrian, I last saw him heading down to the truck stop,” he informed her.

“Off busying himself with some project, I assume,” Piper shook her head with a tired smile, “thanks, Preston.”

“No problem, Piper,” Preston smiled, “oh, and be sure to bug him about that mod he was supposed to make for my laser musket.  I’ve been pestering him about that for _weeks!_ ”

“All right,” Piper laughed, “I’ll pass the word on.”

As Piper left the neighborhood, she crossed the half-crumbled wooden bridge that stretched over a small creek.  As the Red Rocket Truck Stop came into view, Piper saw that a vertibird was parked in the street just outside.   _I get woken up by birds, but don’t even notice a vertibird landing down the street.  Right._

As she approached the truck stop, she found Adrian next to the vertibird, scratching his beard as he examined the massive, gray aircraft.  He turned around with a start as Piper strutted towards him.

“So… you finally gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” Piper leaned against the door of the vertibird with a smirk, “I _know_ this isn’t just a lawn ornament, Blue.”

Adrian’s face looked like that of a child who’d been caught stealing from a cookie jar.  Piper was always amused by this; Adrian stood head-and-shoulders above most people, yet he often got that “deer-in-the-headlights” look, as Nick had described it.  

“ _Bluuuuuue?_ ”  Piper crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, stepping closer to Adrian.

Adrian just smiled sheepishly, looking away as he tucked a lock of his long, black hair behind his ear.   _Yeah, he’s planning something, alright._

“Okay, Adi, I know you’re up to something, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me and Nick to come up here,” Piper pleaded, “and you sure as hell wouldn’t have a vertibird.  Just tell me what it is.   _Please?_ ”

“It’s--”

“And don’t just tell me it’s top secret ‘Minuteman Business’ either.”

“It’s not something I want to discuss in public,” Adrian slowly finished his sentence, “but we’re going to be making plans at my place in a little while.  I’d like for you and Nick to be there.”

“Oh, I see,” Piper drawled, “planning a boys’ night out?”

“Not necessarily,” Adrian was quick to defend himself, “actually, I think this might be right up your alley.  Could be a _preeeetty_ big story waiting to be written.”

“Really?” Piper raised her eyebrow, “interesting…”

Piper then mimicked Adrian’s favorite mannerism, stroking her imaginary beard as she pretended to ponder the situation.  This earned her an amused head shake and a simper from Adrian in response.

“Well, judging by the vertibird, this seems like the kind of story that might finally get my paper to sell.”

Adrian winked, “my place at two.”

 

* * *

 

Upon entering Adrian’s house, Piper sat down at the bar that stood in the middle of the kitchen. Next to her was Preston, who smiled and politely greeted her as she perched on the barstool.  Piper looked around the room, curious as to who else Adrian had invited to their secret meeting.

There was Curie, who sat cross-legged on a wooden chair, her clipboard at the ready just in case she learned something interesting.  Next to Nick sat MacCready, whose arms were slung over the back of the couch.  Also occupying the room were two Minutemen that Piper didn’t know the names of.

But in the armchair by the window sat a young girl.  The poor thing looked terrified and had dark circles beneath her eyes, but she still held herself like a little soldier.  Her posture was impeccable, and her brown eyes scanned the room, absorbing every detail.   _She must have something to do with why we’re here._

Adrian then stood next to the fireplace and began to address the small crowd.

“So… yeah,” Adrian awkwardly clapped his hands together, interlocking his fingers as he took a shaky breath, “...where should we start?”

“Maybe by introducing our guest,” Nick gently smiled as he nodded his head in the direction of the girl.

“My name is Gloria,” she folded her hands in her lap as the room’s attention shifted towards her, “I was kidnapped from my home in New Vegas, and I need help getting back.”

Once the room’s occupants had finished introducing themselves to Gloria, Adrian continued to fumble through his presentation.

“That’s what we’re here to discuss… I mean, as you can see…” Adrian gave his beard a vigorous scratch, “...if you saw the vertibird outside, which I’m sure you did, then, uh… yeah.  That’s why.”

Piper was always amazed that Adrian could fluently address over a hundred Minutemen, yet freeze up in front of his most trusted friends.

“New Vegas is located in the Mojave Wasteland in Nevada.  The plan is to fly out out there and take Miss Gloria home,” Preston chimed in, putting into words what Adrian had been struggling with, “Adrian contacted the guys down at Spectacle Island.  Thankfully, they had extra fuel and a vertibird in good enough shape to make the trip.”

“ _Ooh_ , Las Vegas!”  Curie exclaimed, “ _Please_ let me go!  I hear the casinos there are beautiful!”

“No idea that place was still around,” like Curie, Piper had heard of _Las_ Vegas, but had always assumed it was just another destroyed pre-war city like Boston.  Piper couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Curie sometimes; she had a tendency to forget that the Great War had even happened.  New Vegas was no doubt a hopping place, but it was probably nothing like it was before the war.  

But this didn’t put an end to Piper’s curiosity.  She figured that Vegas, or what was left of it, was just another “Great Green Jewel” like Diamond City, but she still looked forward to conducting a little bit of journalism outside of the Commonwealth.  It would be a nice change of pace from her typical headlines, at the very least.  Regardless of what she discovered on their journey, tales of a cross-country vertibird trip would certainly turn a few heads.   _Oh, man… I can already see the headlines..._

“We’d be honored to have you aboard, Curie,” Preston said, pulling Piper out of her thoughts, “I bet the trip will help with your research, too.”

Curie tried to restrain her excitement for the sake of professionalism, but the smile that had glued itself to her cheeks warmed Piper’s heart.  As she squeezed her clipboard to her chest, she reminded Piper of a little kid on Christmas, back when that had been a big thing.  Piper adored Curie; somehow, she managed to be like a mom and a little sister all rolled into one.

“So… not to be condescending or anything, but everyone knows where Vegas is, right?” Adrian asked, “y’know... just so you all know what you’re getting into.”

A few hesitant _um_ s sounded throughout the room.  Piper couldn’t help but notice that the majority of them had come from MacCready.

“Well, I do happen to have a map handy,” Adrian turned around and pulled a rolled up sheet of paper from an umbrella stand.

“Unique place to store a map,” Nick observed with a chuckle.

Adrian unrolled the map and laid it on the coffee table as everybody gathered around to take a look.  Printed on the yellowing paper was a map of pre-war America.

“Okay, so _here,_ ” Adrian pointed to Massachusetts, squinting as he struggled to read the upside-down text, “is the Commonwealth. And here…”

Adrian began to drag his other index finger across the old paper, moving closer and closer to the West Coast.  With every inch that Adrian’s finger moved, Piper swore that MacCready’s face was becoming greener and greener.  She was almost disappointed that Adrian stopped before he projectile vomited all over the map.

“...is Vegas.”

“Oh _man_ ,” MacCready’s voice trembled as he gaped at the map, “that’s a _long_ flight.”

“Just for comparison, this is the Capital Wasteland,” Adrian then traced the distance between the Commonwealth and DC.  MacCready let out a low whistle in response.  

“Damn,” Preston breathed, “I always figured it was somewhere near the West Coast, but I hadn’t ever thought about how _far_ it was.”

Piper noticed that Gloria was beginning to look a little worried.   _Come on, guys.  Poor Gloria thinks you’re chickening out on her._

“You guys still up for this?” Adrian asked, scanning the faces in the room.

“Like I always say - you’d _never_ survive without me,” MacCready wore that smug grin that Piper couldn’t stand, “so if you’re in, I’m in.”

“Sounds like quite the odyssey you all are planning,” Nick was somewhat concerned, but Piper knew that he wasn’t about to back out of helping a scared kid, “but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get our friend home.”

Nick smiled warmly at Gloria, who now looked considerably less worried about being cast aside.

“So, everyone’s on board?” Adrian let out a quiet sigh of relief when everyone in the room nodded their heads.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” a fond smile lit up Nick’s face.

“Good, good,” Adrian beamed as excitement began to flare up in his green eyes.  

_Lord knows it’s probably the first time in_ centuries _he’s felt this excited about something._ Adrian had shown signs of depression ever since Piper had first met him, yet he had a smile that could bring power back to Boston.  When he was in a good mood, the man’s happiness was absolutely contagious.  Piper hoped that whatever they found in New Vegas lived up to Adrian’s expectations.

“When do we want to leave, sir?”  Preston asked.

“Does tomorrow morning work?”  Adrian looked around the room.  He was met with silence at first, but then everyone in the room murmured and nodded in agreement.

Gloria then took charge of the meeting, crouching in front of the map and giving everyone in the room a rundown on the area surrounding New Vegas.  It was important information - what direction to approach from, places to avoid, and so on - but Piper found that she could barely pay attention anymore.

All she could think about was the incredible, albeit dangerous, journey that she had ahead of her  Even by vertibird, she knew that it would likely take several days to reach their destination.  It was a risky endeavor, but Piper could feel in her heart that it was all going to be worth it, for awaiting her in Nevada was the story of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading. Little note though: In my playthrough, Spectacle Island is where I like to imagine that my Minutemen keep the few vertibirds that they have when they aren't in use. I've always thought it was a neat little location, especially being so close to the Castle and all. So, yeah, just in case you were confused about that part. :D


	5. The Devil, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“They found the Chip. I wasn't gonna tell them what it was used for, but... let's just say they were persuasive.”_

* * *

**Benny**

* * *

 

He had been an absolute devil.

The sad part was that attempting to murder some lonesome, unnamed courier had hardly been the worst of it.

He had come dangerously close to sabotaging his beloved city’s only shot at independence.  In his desperation to give the Chairmen a leg up, he and his ingenious plan to take over New Vegas had waltzed straight into the hands of the Legion.

And the man who had freed him from their clutches was the same courier he had shot twice in the head.

Maybe it was mercy.  But maybe it was because Benny had only received a fraction of what he truly deserved.

As he crawled along the abandoned highway after making his escape, the sound of music filled Benny’s ears.  Standing over him as he dragged his broken body across the scalding asphalt was the singer.  He belted out his songs about the _old days,_ back when the Chairmen had still been the Boot Riders.  He sang his heart out, telling stories through his music about the tribe, the _family_ , that Benny was never going to see again.  

The singer carried the very same vial of _Vegas_ that had taken his life.  He dangled the small bottle by a string; it was so close to Benny that he could see his bloody reflection in the deadly liquid, but he was too slow and too weak to grab it.  Desperate for a quick, painless way to end it all, Benny craved the liquid.  Although he knew he would never reach the bottle, he pursued it like a madman.  

But he knew all too well that there was to be no swift death for him.  It was either the sun or the insects that would claim his soul.

Benny had finally been on the verge of death when he collapsed at the feet of a merchant.  He was starving, dehydrated, and slowly being eaten alive by cazadors.  He had rasped a hoarse, pathetic final cry for help as the singer finally took his leave.

Now, as he laid half-naked and half-conscious on some wasteland operating table, Benny wondered if he would ever get the chance to make amends, or to “make peace” as some folks called it.  He wasn’t sure if he ever could.  Not after what _he’d_ done.  It didn’t matter, of course.

He was probably going to die.

Benny couldn’t feel much of anything, but he knew that somewhere at the other end of the operating table, some “doctor” was doing arts and crafts with his knee.  If he had the strength to speak, Benny would have told them to lay down the scalpel and just let him overdose on whatever chems they had given him.

Instead, Benny just laid there, resigning to whatever it was the Mojave chose to throw at him next.  The desert had a mind of its own; some people it spared, others it killed.  But it couldn’t seem to make up its mind about _him._ Benny wished it would hurry up and decide.

What happened next was pretty foggy, probably because he’d passed out again.

He next awakened in a lumpy bed next to a dirty window in a dingy room.  A scratchy blanket had been thrown over him despite how unbearably muggy the room was.  But, when he lifted his hands to tear away the offending fabric, Benny realized with a start that both of his hands were in casts.

_Oh, right._

Yeah, the Legion had had a swingin’ time with his hands, all right.  When Benny had declined an interview regarding the Platinum Chip, Caesar had his goons break all of his fingers.  Benny didn’t even want to think about what they did next, but he realized that it was probably a good thing he hadn’t been planning on getting a manicure.  

When all that had failed to unseal Benny’s lips, the dirty punks got to work on his knee.

That had gotten him to talk pretty fast.

Once Caesar had learned of the robots that inhabited the bunker beneath his camp, the fate of New Vegas came terrifyingly close to being sealed.  It was thanks to the courier that the city still had one last chance at deciding its own fate.

But Benny didn’t want to get his hopes up.  The Legion and the NCR had yet to duke it out on the dam, and there was no way of knowing which side the courier stood on.  Benny realized with sharp pangs of guilt that he could very well have handed New Vegas to the NCR.

Benny tried not to think about all of the different possibilities.  There was still hope for New Vegas, and that was all that mattered to him, even if he was never going to be a part of its future.  But he knew better than to view himself as some kind of martyr.  Sure, he’d gotten the ball rolling on the caper, but he wasn’t the savior of New Vegas.  

He was just a punk who’d cheated Mr. House.  

Benny had only been awake for a few minutes, but he had already decided that it would have been better if he had died.

His head jerked towards the door as it slowly creaked open.  In the doorway stood an old woman in a dirty lab coat.  A gentle smile crinkled her dark, leathery skin.

“You’re awake?  Good,” the woman slowly crossed the room, her dark eyes examining Benny.

Benny had to resist the urge to jerk away when the stranger rested her hand on his forehead.  He tensed up under the woman’s touch, scarcely breathing until she had pulled away.

“What… happened?” Benny croaked, his throat burning like hot sand as he choked out the words.  He tried to massage his throbbing head, only to hit himself in the face with the casts that imprisoned his hands.  

_Well, this is humiliating._

“My son found you on the side of the road.  Said you were bleeding out after being eaten alive by cazadors,” the woman listed the gory details matter-of-factly, as if retelling a story she had heard on the radio, “you were poisoned so badly, we thought for sure you were gonna die.”

 _If only,_ Benny nearly said.

“Your knee was messed up pretty bad,” the woman gestured towards the bulky cast that encased what used to be a perfectly good knee, “we fixed it as best we could.  I won’t lie, though: we’re not sure how much use it’ll be from now on, even when it heals.

Benny hoped a nod would be a sufficient response for the woman. If he had any desire left to live, he had no doubt that he would be endlessly grateful to this stranger.  She seemed friendly, generous, and warm… all of the things Benny wasn’t.  But he didn’t want to talk to her.  

He just wanted to be left alone.

“You must be pretty hungry,” to her credit, she was right.  Benny’s stomach felt like it was going to eat itself at any moment, but the last thing he wanted was to eat.  

“Can I get you some food?”

“No, thank you,” Benny declined, praying that his growling stomach wouldn’t give him away.

Over the next several days, Benny grew acquainted with the chipped paint on the ceiling and the garish floral wallpaper that peeled in chunks.  It was that scenery and the incessant ticking of a distant clock that kept him company.  He never once bothered to look out of the window.

The idea of looking out into the desert felt much akin to facing Swank and Mr. House after everything he had done.

As time went on, Benny slowly warmed up to the woman.  It was abundantly clear that he was going to be stuck in her house for a while, so he figured that a tiny bit of human interaction every now and then wouldn’t hurt.  He just hoped that she got the message that he wasn’t up for anything more than small talk.

Benny was eventually forced to eat, as it turned out that emotional numbness wasn’t a viable alternative to food.  

Besides, if someone had really gone to the trouble of dragging his body across the desert and sewing it back together, Benny decided that he might as well just live…

...for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an example of one of those chapters that hops back in time quite a bit. :P This one actually took place during the events of FNV, shortly after Benny's escape from the fort.
> 
> e: Also, it may be a little bit before the next chapter. I have final projects and stuff to worry about, and the next chapter will be probably be a little on the longer side. I'm hoping to still get it done within the next couple of weeks, though!


	6. Takeoff

* * *

  **Curie**

* * *

 

 

Curie let out a quiet squeal of excitement as she rummaged through her belongings as she prepared for the journey to New Vegas.  She had already packed two lab coats, over a dozen pens and pencils, and enough notepads to fill the Library of Congress.  Yet, she still felt like she was forgetting something.

_Oh!_

Curie realized with a start that she had nearly forgotten gloves.   _Gloves!_  What kind of doctor wouldn’t bring gloves?  She ran into her makeshift office and grabbed two boxes of latex gloves.   _Just in case I lose one, yes?_

Once she had finished gathering the supplies that she would need for her scientific research, Curie began her attempt to arrange all of her clothes inside of her suitcase.  It was almost a blessing that she didn’t own very many clothes, otherwise she would have to spend hours deliberating over which to take with her.

At long last, she finished stuffing her belongings into her beaten up suitcase.  She shoved the lid shut, praying as she wrestled with the centuries-old zipper that the plump luggage wouldn’t burst mid-flight.

When she was finally satisfied with her preparations, Curie moved the suitcase onto the floor and flopped onto her bed.  The sun was still high in the sky, and nighttime wouldn’t arrive for another several hours. She wanted to whine in frustration; all she wanted at the moment was to sleep the day away so time would pass more quickly.  Curie couldn’t recall ever being that excited for something.  It was a thrilling, new feeling, but it was pushing her patience to its limit.

Curie eventually found ways to occupy herself, but even then, she was distracted by the excitement.  She couldn’t even begin to wrap her head around just how much they were going to see; she and her friends were going to fly across the entire United States.  Being up in a vertibird would allow her to study the landscape for many miles at a time.

That didn’t even begin to cover what she might find in New Vegas, though.

She was utterly fascinated by the prospect of studying how the bombs affected a completely different part of the country, and how people adapted to an environment that was so different than the Commonwealth’s.  The trip would also serve as an excellent opportunity for her to provide her medical services.

Curie felt as though she was about to stumble upon the most important discoveries of her lifetime.   _What if I find something there that helps everyone in the Commonwealth?_

As excited as Curie was, however, she also felt a strong sense of duty.

It was with great reluctance that another synth named Glory had allowed Curie to have the body of an old friend of hers.  The friend in question was another synth whose mind had been destroyed as a result of a failed memory wipe.

“Curie had _better_ be worth it,” was the first thing that Curie had heard Glory say upon waking up.  Although she was initially hurt by the statement, she was sympathetic to what Glory was going through.  

But, more importantly, Glory’s words had instilled a purpose in Curie… a purpose that Curie hoped would be furthered by whatever she found in the Mojave Wasteland.

As the sun slowly began to set, Curie set out on a stroll around the neighborhood in hopes of clearing her head before she went to sleep.  The crisp, evening air felt good in her lungs, but it only caused her heart to flutter even more.  Cure couldn’t understand how or why, but the air around her smelled like _adventure_.

As she meandered down the sidewalk, Curie encountered Piper.  She, too, appeared to have gone on a walk to calm her nerves.

“Evening, Curie,” Piper smiled, “you’re feeling antsy too, eh?”

“You can’t even _begin_ to imagine!”  Curie giggled, “just thinking of all the research I could do makes me so excited that I could faint!”

“I’m sure we’ll find _something_ interesting out there,” Piper assured her as she stared off into the night sky, her mind undoubtedly soaring towards New Vegas.

The two spent the majority of their walk chatting about the upcoming journey.  It was after several minutes that Curie realized that she had launched into a long-winded discussion about the scientific research she was hoping to conduct in the Mojave Wasteland.  She felt somewhat embarrassed about hijacking the conversation, but Piper listened intently, smiling and asking her questions all along the way.

That was what Curie loved most about Piper; even if she didn’t understand all of the scientific details, she was the best listener that Curie knew.  Piper had a special way of making people feel content and comfortable around her; Curie felt like she could tell her anything.

“I think we should team up,” Piper suggested with a smirk.

“Ooh,” Curie stroked her chin, “what did you have in mind?”

“I was gonna partake in a little investigative journalism while we were visiting New Vegas,” Piper rubbed her hands together as she formulated her plan, “and since you’re going to be doing your science thing… maybe we could swap info.  Y’know, help each other out.”

“That sounds like a most excellent idea!”  Curie nodded with a grin, “I would be thrilled to assist you.  I will gladly share any scientific information that I discover.”

“And any dirt I find, I’ll send your way,” Piper promised with a wink.

If Curie hadn’t been too excited to sleep earlier, she definitely was now.  The idea of exploring a new part of the world _and_ working together with Piper made her heart want to burst.

As nighttime finally arrived, Curie curled up in bed and attempted to forcefully induce sleep as her head hit the pillow.   _Come on, Curie, sleep.  Tomorrow will come faster if you do._

Despite her best efforts, she remained in a conscious state and was left with no choice but to stare at the ceiling all night.  This was one of the few times that Curie regretted only needing a handful of hours of sleep; while her human companions dozed the night away, she would only be able to pass a few hours.

As she stared blankly into space, her excitement began to melt away into anxiety.

 _What if something terrible happens?_ She began to chew her nails, _what if one of my friends picks up a disease while we are travelling?  What if they get injured and I can’t help them?_

As the night crawled on, her fantasies about scientific glory were replaced by images of illness, vertibird wreckages, and nuclear radiation.  Her new friends had quickly become like a family to her, and the idea of something bad happening to any of them made her want to cry.  

Not wanting that dreaded liquid to leak out of her eyes again, Curie tried to think about something else, but the horrific possibilities still flooded her mind.

Eventually, however, she fell into a restless, dreamless sleep, and awakened hours before the sun was set to rise.  As her friends slowly awakened, Curie passed the time by eating breakfast with the others before making her last-minute preparations.

Curie breathed a sigh of relief when Adrian finally announced that it was time to leave.

The small group chattered excitedly as they gathered up their bags and followed Adrian down the street.  Curie took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp morning air and admiring the dewdrops that dotted everything in sight.  The sky was overcast and gray, but the world still seemed so exciting and beautiful at that moment.  The world was a harsh place, but this was one of those times that Curie was thrilled to be alive.

The party made their way to the Red Rocket Truck Stop, where they found a vertibird awaiting them in the parking lot.  One-by-one, they each loaded their luggage into the vertibird’s cargo hold.  Curie took a moment to double check that she had her notepads and writing utensils in her messenger bag before climbing into the aircraft.  

Curie sat next to Piper on one of the extra seats that had been installed in the spaces typically reserved for those wearing power armor.  Piper smiled and pulled her own bag aside to make room for Curie as the rest of the party took their places in the aircraft.

As a result of all the luggage, bodies, and supplies that they had to carry, the vertibird wasn’t exactly roomy.  Curie was glad that she wasn’t the sort to get claustrophobic, as she could scarcely move without her leg or arm brushing against Piper.  She almost pitied MacCready, who was sitting next to Adrian, who was an absolute giant compared to most people.   _He must be getting crushed!_

“Is everybody ready?” the pilot turned around to look at the passengers, who nodded and sleepily mumbled in agreement.

Curie’s heart began to flutter as the vertibird’s engine roared to life.  She could feel the adrenaline racing through her like a waterfall as she felt the power of the aircraft that was now coming to life.  She exchanged an excited look with Piper as the two metal doors on either side of them slid shut.  As the propellers roared and became nothing more than a singular, round blur, Curie felt the aircraft lurch as it slowly lifted off the ground.

Outside of the circular window, Curie could see the ground becoming further and further away from them.  As they took to the skies, she could see all of Sanctuary Hills in the distance.  She leaned over and waved to the tiny people below as they flew overhead and began to make their way West.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I just wanna say I'm sorry this chapter turned out shorter than expected and also not super great. ;__; I just got really stuck and I wrote a whole ton and realized it was just all rushed and stuff so....yeah. I kinda decided to just rip off the bandaid and get it done as best as I could because I was really hung up on this one. Sorry ;_;
> 
> But, the next chapter I promise will be a bit better and more interesting, so there's that, at least. ^^;


	7. Viva New Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, hi! And second of all, sorry this took so long! Real life (new semester and all) as well as other projects kind of got in the way of this, plus I sort of got kinda stuck on this chapter for a while. But, here it is now, and hopefully I won't take this long again (no promises, but I'll try ^^;)
> 
> The good news is, I worked out some plot details I wasn't sure on and pieced a whole bunch of future stuff for this fic together, and I think it'll be pretty neat. I hope you enjoy what's to come. :D
> 
> Also, I know that I typically have been alternating back and forth between the Commonwealth Crew and the Mojave, but I decided to completely change the one chapter I had written and I didn't want to just leave you guys for a super long time, so here ya go. :D

* * *

  **Preston**

* * *

 

Preston yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before clumsily emerging from his tent. As he took in his surroundings, he was glad that the sun was hidden behind the overcast sky. This caused the air around him to be a little too chilly for comfort, but at least he wasn’t blinded by sunlight.

As he pulled on his duster and scarf, Preston admired the lake that stretched out almost endlessly before them. In the distance were green hills that pitched and rolled beneath a blanket of fog, and surrounding them was a wall of towering trees.

Preston was almost certain that this lake was full of dangers and radiation like the ones back in the Commonwealth. Nevertheless, the sight of it reminded him that there was still some beauty left in the world.

It was unbelievably quiet here; the only sounds came from his friends as they quietly talked and ate breakfast before they departed. It was much unlike the Commonwealth, where gunshots could be heard even before the sun had risen above the horizon. The silence was a soothing contrast to the endless fighting back home.

But the place was just as thrilling as it was peaceful.  As much as Preston cared about the Commonwealth, there was something magical about being hundreds of miles away from home, far away from any form of civilization.  It almost made him forget just how poorly he had slept.

After a quick stretch, Preston joined the others, who were eating around a small campfire.

Gloria had perked up considerably; now that she was finally in safe hands and on her way home, the stiffness had faded from her posture and voice.  She was already talking Nick’s ear off, much like she had for a good chunk of the previous day’s flight.  Gloria had taken a strong liking to the old synth; Preston suspected that it was both curiosity and Nick’s kind, gentle nature that tended to be popular with the kids.

“You’ll fit _right_ in,” Preston overheard Gloria saying, “there are _tons_ of robots in Vegas!”

“It sounds like I’ll be in very good company,” Nick smiled.

“Indeed,” the girl beamed, “in fact, Vegas was _saved_ by robots.  When I was really little, this really big army called the Legion was gonna destroy the city.  But then our leader, Maxxie, turned on the robots and they stopped them!”

“Sounds like we could use some of those back in the Commonwealth,” Preston interjected, “raiders might start to think twice before picking on our farmers.”

“If you’re nice to Maxxie, he might let you have some,” Gloria teased, “I bet he’ll want to meet you, too.  Either way, I’ll tell Marjorie to pass the word along that you’ve arrived.  She meets with Maxxie a lot, so if he’s smart, he’ll listen to her.”

“I just hope we’re not gonna let the bots steal all the fun back home,” MacCready smirked.

“You and I have very different ideas of ‘fun’,” Preston grumbled, “there’s more to life than just killing people, you know.”

“At least I’m being realistic,” MacCready retorted, “let me know when you wake up from that precious little delusion of yours.”

“How about _you_ let _me_ know when you start caring about somebody other than yourself?”  Preston snapped.

“Guys…” Piper growled, rubbing her temples with her fingertips as she rolled her eyes.

“Cut it out, both of you,” Nick scolded them, “everybody is tired and crabby as it is.  Nobody wants to deal with a giant hullabaloo on top of everything else.  We’ve still got a long way to go.”

He still had a lot that he wanted to say to MacCready at the moment, but the smug little smile that lit up Gloria’s face made Preston temporarily forget just how much he wanted to wrap his hands around the other man’s throat.  The look on Gloria’s face made Preston suspect that MacCready was in for quite a culture shock.

Preston couldn’t _wait_ to get to New Vegas.

“I agree with Mr. Valentine, there is no need to fret, gentlemen,” Gloria rested her hand on her chest in an exaggerated gesture, “there is plenty of fun for _everyone_ in our fine city.  Even if it’s mostly for grown-ups…”

MacCready scowled, but he quickly relaxed when Adrian rested a hand on his shoulder.  That was Adrian’s way of silently telling MacCready that he needed to unbunch his panties. Preston was often tempted to ask Adrian to teach him that trick.

Thankfully, Preston and MacCready managed to completely ignore each other as the party finished eating and began to pack up their camping gear.  Gloria continued to eagerly converse with Nick as everyone climbed back into the vertibird to make the final leg of their journey.

As the vertibird once again took to the skies, Preston felt his stomach flutter as he listened to the roaring engines and observed the landscape below them.  Forests and lakes soon turned into rivers and hills that rolled like little waves across vast plains.  Although there weren’t any distinct features to the area over which they were flying, Preston still found that his breath had been taken away.  From up here, the land seemed so vast and endless.

“I never really thought about how _big_ the world is,” Preston breathed, propping his elbows on his knees as he stared out the window, “I can’t believe people got to travel all over it back in the day.”

“The world is a truly magnificent place, even after the Great War,” Curie let out a dreamy sigh as she clasped her hands together.

As much as Preston enjoyed the view, he began to grow restless as the flight drew on.  Even as the grassy plains transformed into magnificent mountains, all he wanted was to get out of the vertibird and explore.  

“How much longer ‘til we get there?”  Preston asked.

The pilot shrugged in response, “looks like it’ll probably be a couple more hours.  Not too much longer now, don’t worry.”

Preston’s mind wandered for the rest of the flight.  He was growing increasingly bored, especially now that it was too dark outside to get a good look at the scenery.  Everyone in the vertibird was growing antsier by the minute.  Gloria was so happy to be almost home that she looked like she wanted to bounce off the walls.

Preston closed his eyes and was about to doze off for a quick nap when he heard awestruck murmurs from his companions.

“Well, would you look at that,” Nick said.

Everyone was looking out of the vertibird’s front windows.  When Preston followed their gazes, he gasped.

Far off into the distance stood over a dozen massive buildings that shot bright, neon lights into the night sky.  Smaller buildings and settlements surrounded the city like a golden, glowing halo.  Preston’s heart raced at the sight.

“Holy…” Preston breathed, “...is that… a city?  Like the ones from the old world?”

“It sure is,” Gloria beamed, “there’s nothing else like it in the world.  Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Preston let out a low whistle.  For his entire life, he’d helped people survive and build small communities among the ruins of Boston.  Although he had always had high hopes for the Commonwealth, Preston could never wrap his mind around what a pre-war city must have been like.  Sure, there were small communities like Covenant that _looked_ pre-war, but Preston never thought he’d ever see an entire city all lit up.

Until now.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nick smiled, “I didn’t think places like this still existed.  Not on this kind of scale, anyway.”

Everyone’s eyes remained glued to the windows as they made their final approach to New Vegas.  Off in the distance, they could see several other vertibirds patrolling the desert.  

“Sure hope those don’t belong to the Brotherhood,” MacCready grumbled.

“Oh, heavens, no,” Gloria shook her head, “those are our vertibirds.  They watch over the Mojave and protect everyone.”

For once, Preston could understand MacCready’s hesitation.  Back home, he often associated vertibirds and power armor with the Brotherhood of Steel, who often used any means necessary to ensure that nobody else got to use them.  

“They sound a hell of a lot nicer than the Brotherhood,” Preston said as he watched a vertibird land at the airport next to the city, “those guys don’t care too much about helping people.”

“I agree,” Gloria nodded, “somebody needs to teach those greedy brutes some _manners_.  It’s terribly impolite not to share, after all.”

As they made their final approach towards the city, they picked up a radio transmission from a control tower at an airport called Camp McCarran. Preston could hear the pilot talking to the person on the other end of the radio. Based on what he was hearing, Preston assumed that they were being told precisely where to land.

The closer they got to New Vegas, the more beautiful it looked; its lights shined as brightly as the sun.  Preston hoped that he and his friends would be allowed inside, as all of the nicer establishments back home typically had some strict entrance requirements.

Before he knew it, the vertibird was slowing down as it arrived at the airport. Outside of the window, Preston could see dozens of people milling about on the tarmac, busy as can be, even at such a late hour.

A grin plastered itself on Preston’s face when he heard the mechanical sound of the vertibird’s landing gear lowering.  The aircraft landed on the tarmac with a slight bounce just before its engines whined to a stop.  Four soldiers dressed in blue and black jogged up to them as the vertibird’s doors slid open.

The party climbed out of the aircraft and gathered up their belongings while the soldiers gave instructions to the pilots.  

“We’ll go ahead and park this thing for ya,” Preston overheard one of the soldiers saying, “don’t worry, it’ll be safe as houses here.  Consider it our free valet service.”

“While they’re taking that thing off your hands, grab all your stuff and follow us,” another soldier explained, “we’ll escort you to the monorail.”

Preston and the others followed the soldiers towards the terminal building. A group of workers jogged past them, and a vertibird with a pristine looking coat of blue paint and “NVAF” painted on its side rolled past them with its wings folded in an upright position.  Preston couldn’t help but wonder where and how they had gotten such nice looking vertibirds, but he figured this was a question best reserved for the higher-ups.

As they stepped through the doors into the terminal, they were assaulted by waves of light and sound.  The inside of the airport was just as busy as the outside, but it was made even louder by the echoing of the building’s walls.  The airport alone was busier and louder than anywhere in the Commonwealth, including Diamond City and Goodneighbor; Preston couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine what the Strip was like.

The building itself was fairly amazing, as well.  Model airplanes hung from the ceiling, and lining the corridors were slot machines; most appeared to be non-functional, but Preston suspected that they would have plenty of chances to use them in the city.

As they made their way through the terminal, they could hear a metallic screeching sound that Preston assumed was the monorail arriving.

The soldiers led them past the escalators and into a hallway that lead to the monorail station.  As the party stepped onto the platform, the car was already awaiting their arrival.

“Oh, are we going to ride the train?” Curie asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” a soldier answered, “this monorail goes directly to the Strip.  Have a good time!”

The group climbed onto the train with their luggage and sat down just before the car began to crawl along the track. Preston watched as the bright lights of Vegas grew closer and closer.  He now noticed that  the city was surrounded by a massive, concrete wall. It was topped with twisting barbed wire and lined with dozens of guard towers, and its sturdiness appeared to put even the Castle’s walls to shame.

“Woah,” Piper breathed, “and I thought Diamond City’s wall was imposing…”

“Unlike Diamond City, this wall wasn’t here before the war,” Adrian explained, “which means someone, somehow, built this thing just to keep raiders out.”

“Man, the people here have gotta be _crazy_ rich,” MacCready said as he gaped out the window, “either that, or they all sold their souls to somebody.”

“Well, however they did it, you best believe I’ll find out,” Piper smirked and pointed to her press cap before scribbling something on her notepad. She mumbled something about the concrete that the wall was made from.

“I, for one, am quite eager to explore their medical facilities,” Curie piped up, “a settlement this advanced must have very impressive medical technology.”

“You should meet the Followers of the Apocalypse, then,” Gloria informed her, “they’re really into science and medicine.  I don’t know much about them, but they seem nice.”

The monorail train passed over the city’s concrete wall and slid to a stop inside of a small building.  The shattered glass doors slowly slid open, allowing the party to step out onto the platform. As they exited the monorail car, they were greeted by a tall robot that stood atop a single tire.

“Welcome to fabulous New Vegas!” the robot declared, “we ask that you please cooperate with all local weapon laws during your stay.  Remember: violence is not permitted within the city walls. Otherwise, please enjoy yourselves!”

“Don’t worry, we’re not looking for trouble,” Preston smiled, “in fact, we were just bringing somebody home.”

“Ms. Sherwood!” the face on the robot’s screen smiled as it saw Gloria stepping out of the monorail, “you should hurry back to the Ultra-Luxe, ma’am.  The White Glove Society have been long awaiting your return.  Welcome home!”

“Thank you, sir,” the girl smiled before turning back to her newfound friends, “everyone follow me, please.”

The girl then turned on her heel and motioned for the party to follow her as she took off, leaving the platform and half-jogging through a small building that was occupied by more robots.  Preston and the others followed Gloria down a flight of concrete stairs and stopped as they reached a set of metal doors.

“Get ready!” Gloria warned them with a wink, “you’re about to step into the heart of New Vegas for the very first time.  Relish it!”

The moment they stepped through the doors, the Strip hit them like a tidal wave.

They were surrounded by tall, brightly lit buildings that practically turned the night into day. It was one thing seeing the bright neon lights from afar, but they were almost blinding up close. Preston had never seen so many colors in his life; he’d seen old illustrations and photos from the old world, but nothing quite captured the sheer intensity of the scene surrounding them. Night had long since come, and yet, the streets bustled more loudly and intensely than even the Diamond City marketplace at midday.

Preston paused, turning around in several slow circles, drinking in his surroundings. Music filled his ears, and the tantalizing scent of food wafted from almost all directions. Everywhere he looked, people were talking, laughing, and singing. The grin that was frozen on his face must have looked idiotic, but Preston didn’t care. He’d been in New Vegas for less than five minutes and his heart was already swelling.

As he stood there in the middle of the Strip with his general and his closest friends, Preston could feel himself regaining hope that he hadn’t even known he’d begun to lose. He didn’t know a whole lot about religion, but he bet that this was what heaven was like.

As they descended a final flight of concrete stairs, Preston began to wonder how people in the old world managed to get anything done with so many exciting distractions surrounding them. He began to grow sad, knowing that so much of it had been destroyed in the Great War, but he forced the feeling out of his mind. The life of a Minuteman was full of tragedy and sorrow as it was; he was going to _enjoy_ this moment.

Although many folks labelled him as an idealist, the harsh realities of living in the Commonwealth would often begin to wear down even his optimism. But now, standing in the middle of the New Vegas strip, Preston could feel all his wounds and disappointment and heartbreak beginning to heal.

“Wow,” Preston breathed as he continued to examine his surroundings, “is this what things were like back then?”

Preston’s question had been directed at Adrian, but the man in question never responded. When Preston glanced backwards, he saw that Adrian was sitting on one of the lower steps, his face buried in his hands.

“It’s still here…”

MacCready sat down next to Adrian, wrapping his slender arm around him as a quiet sob shook his body. Preston felt somewhat guilty; he’d been so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t even noticed what was happening right behind him.

“Adrian, are you okay?” Preston asked.

Adrian quickly nodded before lifting his head. His eyes were full of tears, but he was smiling. He hid his mouth with the back of his hand as another wave of tears overcame him. MacCready smiled and gently rubbed the older man’s back as he sobbed again. Gloria gently patted his shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry,” Adrian laughed softly between sobs, “I just can’t believe this place _survived_.”

“In a world so ravaged by violence and destruction,” Nick murmured with a gentle old smile, “it’s nice to see that some of it is starting to come back to life.”

Adrian gave slow, tearful nod in response.

“It’s so _beautiful_ ,” Curie beamed, “it’s truly wonderful to see such a lively city. I had begun to fear that no such places existed anymore.”

“I know I need to be taking notes on all of this, but I don’t even know where to start,” Piper breathed, “gosh, if only I had a camera…”

“Looks just like it did before the war,” Adrian said as he finally begun to pull himself together, smiling tiredly as Nick rested his hand on his shoulder.

“Woah,” Gloria piped up, “you were alive before the Great War?”

“Sure was,” Adrian smiled again, “but I’ll explain that in a little while. I think your folks probably want to see you soon.”

With that, Adrian rose to his feet, following an excited Gloria as she led the group towards the Ultra-Luxe casino. As Gloria pulled Adrian away, MacCready lagged behind slightly, giving Preston the chance to make eye contact.

“ _See_ , MacCready,” Preston asserted as he gestured around himself, “when I go on and on about that whole ‘saving the world’ thing, _this_ is what I’m talking about!”

For once in his life, MacCready was at a loss for words.

“We could make the Commonwealth look like this, too, you know,” Preston continued with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, you win this time, Garvey,” MacCready smirked, “so, congratulations. World’s not as dead as I thought it was. Guess I owe you a few caps.”

Preston beamed as MacCready turned to catch up with Adrian and the others. He revelled in his small little victory over MacCready, but deep down, he knew that he’d just done a whole lot more than winning an argument. He had just truly realized that one day, the people of the Commonwealth could do more than just survive - they could start _living._

It would take a hell of a lot of fighting and elbow grease, but one day, Boston would shine as brightly as New Vegas.

Preston would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few notes:
> 
> -I'm basing New Vegas in this story more off of the concept art than the actual game. So, there's more casinos than you see on the Strip in FNV (I'll explain the specifics later on in the story, but basically the Families still reside in their respective casinos but sort of fund/oversee others), and the wall is made of solid concrete like you see in the artwork and such. 
> 
> -From here on out, you'll start seeing a lot of the artistic liberties and headcanons that I warned you about in the tags, so bare that in mind. :D


End file.
